


Can't Be Mended

by yellowbessie



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 04:25:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5192252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellowbessie/pseuds/yellowbessie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why is Hardy so attached to his tie?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Be Mended

"You _what_?!" Hardy howls at the nurse.

"It's standard procedure, sir," she replies, a little cowed by his anger. "But, I'll check the ambulance. It might still be there."

"I'll wait," he answers gruffly. He's been on enough ambulance trips to know the standard procedure by now. Get access to the chest as quickly as possible. No time to fumble with buttons or knots – just slice through with the trauma shears. What's a few bits of thread when the patient's life is at stake?

The nurse returns a few minutes later with a paper bag and a weak smile. "Here ya go. You know, you really should stay with us, just for a few more days…"

He scowls, taking the bag, and cuts her off, "Thank you. Bye now!" Irritation drips from his words. He needs to get out of this hospital as fast as possible.

The bag stays closed until he reaches the relative safety of his hotel room. Panting from the exertion of climbing the single flight of stairs, he sits heavily on the bed. The paper crinkles as he unrolls the top and rustles around inside. There's his white dress shirt: crumpled, torn, and still damp with sweat. It gets dumped unceremoniously on the floor (later destined for the rubbish bin). Without the shirt, the bag seems empty. Heart in his mouth, Hardy reaches in and finds what he was looking for this whole time: a grey, rough strip of fabric. The loop that had encircled his neck only a few hours ago was cut through. The knot – still intact - is loose from earlier, when he was struggling to remove it before the medics arrived. Ellie, busy trying to undo the top buttons of his shirt to make it easier for him to breathe, kept batting his hands away. "Just leave it!" she'd shouted at him.

But, how could he leave it? _How?_

It was the last gift she'd given him. The last Fathers' Day before the Sandbrook fiasco. "What do you want for Fathers' Day, Dad?" she'd asked. He'd insisted that he didn't want anything, but finally conceded, when she wouldn't relent, "Oh, a tie or something. Isn't that traditional? At least it's something I can use. Just nothin' fancy!"

That Sunday, she presented him with a narrow box and a card that read, "Like you said – nothing fancy! Solid grey, it will go with everything. The fabric's a little on the rough side, but it reminded me of someone I'm quite fond of. Love you, Dad. Happy Fathers' Day!"

She'd been right, of course. His daughter had an impeccable fashion sense and the grey tie _did_ go with everything (his "everything" being dark suits and white shirts). He'd worn that tie a lot in Broadchurch. The grey seemed to mirror the sea and the sky that were such a part of life here. But mostly, he wore it when his heart was heavy with unreturned phone calls. To remind himself of a time when he was loved.

He looks down at the torn fabric threaded through his fingers, and wonders desperately if this is something that can be fixed. If he could take the wounded tie to a tailor and get it back a few days later, stitched up and looking good-as-new. Reason gets the better of him. You can't mend a _tie_! Even sewn up, the seam would be visible and look stupid. His fashion-wise daughter would be the first to point that out.

He gets out his phone and dials her number. Counts the rings until the voicemail picks up. It's a routine he knows well. He leaves a brief message ("Hey, it's me. Dad. Give me a call back when you get the chance. Miss you. Love you."), and hopes his voice doesn't sound too raw.

Looking down at the phone in one hand and tie in the other, he realizes that some things can't be mended.


End file.
